The Hunger Games

Ahh the day of surgery.  Fasting is such fun!  Nil by Mouth from 6:30am they said.  Then you'll go down to theatre around lunchtime they said.  So we will bring you breakfast at 6am they said.

Lies.  All lies.

I woke up around 5:30am with a very sore body (especially after stacking it in the bathroom the night before which had officially made me a 'falls risk' and I wasn't allowed to get up anymore boooo).  I was a bit hungry, so was very excited to get breakfast.  6:05, 6:10, 6:15 no breakfast.  6:20, 6:25 and I was starting to worry that no food would appear before I had to stop eating.  Finally, like an angel, a lovely person came and put a tray in front of me.  Realising I only had five minutes and fearing a nurse appearing and whisking my eggs and bacon away, I scoffed that tray of food down in record time (Man V's Food had nothing on me!), drank the juice, drank the tea and was feeling very impressed with my effort.

Of course then the hours ticked away.  Mum arrived in anticipation of the lunchtime surgery and we sat and looked at each other - 1pm, 2pm, 3pm, 4pm, 5pm, 6pm - I could've had bloody lunch!!  Around 3 mum went off to get some food and said 'I won't eat in front of you if you don't want' due to my hangry status and impending temper tantrum.  'Don't be silly I said - it's fine.'  She then proceeded to go and return to my room with what was quite possibly the most delicious smelling thing from the cafe that she could have bought.  Mum then sat eating it, squashed into the corner of the room with me watching her through narrowed eyes while she refused to make eye contact.  Luckily I had my old friend, morphine to help get me through.

By 6pm, I was hungry, cranky, stressed and tired.  I just wanted this operation to be over so I could start staring at my leg in a vaguely threatening manner in order to command my bones to knit back together at an accelerated rate.  Finally someone arrived to take me to theatre.  I've never been so happy in my life.

So I'm laying in my bed in the anaesthetic area, waiting to go into the operating room when I heard a banjo playing and after thinking I'd lost it for a minute Dr Footz came into the room and said 'can you hear that?  We're playing Keith Urban over the sound system during the operation for you.'  Well played Footz, well played, it completely took my mind off the bag of tools, screws and plates I saw next to to operating table as I was wheeled into the room.  So I drifted off to pleasant KU dreams and next thing I knew I was waking up to Keith singing Wasted Time (which I hoped wasn't a sign about the operation I'd just had) with a brand new cast and a leg being held together by 10 screws and one enormous plate.  Hands down best Keith Urban themed surgery ever.






Back to the ward to sleep and to wake up every 30 mins to look suspiciously at mum and the BFF who were waiting in the room.  The only other thing I remember is waking up at one point and thinking the BFF was wearing a cape - Batgirl was in my room.  She can call it a shrugalero all she wants - it's a cape.

Roll on breakfast.

Dr Footz and the twilight zone

So after finding out the exciting news that I probably couldn't have done more damage to one part of my body if I'd tried, I then got the delightful news that I was going to need surgery (oh god), but before that in order to put the cast on my leg, I'd have to have my ankle 'manipulated'.  Well didn't that sound fun?  Not to worry, I was going to be put into some sort of twilight state so I wouldn't remember what had happened.  Pain is conscious they told me.  All I know is that the morphine was wearing off and I would prefer to be unconscious.  

So the BFF and I got moved to the resus room(!) (don't worry about the name they said).  I was terrified about them having to manipulate my foot, I couldn't understand how I wouldn't feel it if I wasn't anaesthetised?  The Doctor kept telling me I wouldn't remember it.  I was also slightly worried about what I would say in this twilight state - there are many odd thought going around in my head at any given time.  So the BFF was sent out (which is a shame as snapchatting this would have been hilarious).  I was determined to prove them all wrong and remember everything, but all I remember is feeling really relaxed and sleepy and looking at my foot a couple of times, but nothing else.  When they bought me back to reality, one of the Nurses told me I had talked about Keith Urban a lot and made odd noises like 'yip yip yip'.  So I woke up with no memory, a manipulated ankle,  a fetching plaster cast and a BFF eating a Summer Roll at the end of my foot.

Then I was told that the Orthopaedic Surgeon (I shall call him Dr Footz) had been alerted to my broken bits and then just as I asked if I would see him today (it was a Saturday after all) he emerged through the double doors.

It was like he said everything I didn't want to hear:

'admit you to hospital now'

'surgery tomorrow to put in plates and screws'

'will need to stay in hospital for a few days after the operation'

'you won't be able to walk on your foot for three months'

'this is going to be a very long recovery - 12 months'

'you might always have a limp and a scar'

'you need to have another surgery in 12 weeks to take out some of the screws'

'lots of physio for 12 months'

'Harry Styles will cut his hair soon'

Well he didn't say that last one but he could have popped that in and it would have been the same reaction.

I felt that at the end of everything he said there was a little explosion noise and the poor BFF was getting her hand squashed more and more as I listened.  Luckily she was there though and asked the most important question of them all 'will she be okay for the Keith Urban concerts in December?'  Dr Footz then looked at us slightly concerned and said 'how many concerts are there?'  When I told him six I think he was about to call the psych team on us.  He probably thought our priorities were askew - I think they were just right.

So after promises of seeing Dr Footz tomorrow (yay) he went off (probably shaking his head about these two insane girls) and I was wheeled off to the ward.  Minus my pants (side note you know how your mother always told you not to leave the house unless you are wearing clean underwear?  Do that), a lovely breeze blowing and still wearing my lovely RSPCA volunteer shirt.  The photo of me in the wheelchair going to the Ward is the worst picture, but the pain I was in was awful.  Also they tried once again to use my foot to keep the elevator doors open.

Finally I was in my room with my leg propped up on Mt Everest.  Still with no pants.  Bring on the drugs and bring on the surgery tomorrow.  Also sent the BFF home to bring some pants.

PS.  Thank you so much to my BFF.  Without her there that day I don't know what I would have done.  #sheisthebest 

Congratulations! It's broken, dislocated, snapped and torn!

One minute you're sending a photo of an awesome chair to your friend, next minute you're on the ground.

I remember walking down two steps successfully, then I didn't realise there was one more evil step to go.  I teetered on the edge awkwardly (I have a feeling that my arms were flailing about in a windmill fashion), then I heard "snap snap" and I fell in a graceful heap to the driveway.  I then thought the next most important thing to do was to type "want this chair" and finish sending the picture (that's right I held onto my phone with a vice like grip), and then I could concentrate on the fact I couldn't get up.

The odd thing was nothing hurt, nothing really looked swollen, but it was numb and when I tried to lift my leg or foot I COULD FEEL THINGS MOVING.  Things that shouldn't be moving.  Even now when I think about it, I screw up my nose and shudder.  So as I wasn't getting up anytime soon, the lovely ambulance was called and they soon arrived with the lovely morphine.  Hurrah!

One thing I know about myself in these sort of situations is that I don't shut up.  I talk and talk and talk and I don't process anything anyone says to me.  So I need someone to tell me to shut up and listen on my behalf and then tell me what I missed, especially when Doctors are probably telling me important things about myself and my leg.  So I called the BFF.  The BFF was having none of it because she probably thought I wanted something (who me?) and didn't answer the first time, then then when I persevered and called back again she answered with the word "no".  She didn't hang up though (probably on the off chance that I was calling to say I'd just found Keith Urban and had him in the car), but as I pathetically said "I've had an accident", she beat the ambulance to the hospital.

Thumbs up - feeling no pain!

See?  Looks fine to me.

The ambulance driver offered to take      a photo of me in the ambulance   (probably hoping I would stop talking for 5 seconds) and in my morphine state thought yup why wouldn't I want to remember this moment forever?

So we arrived at the hospital and luckily there was nobody with any mega critical medical problems and I got seen really quickly.  In my head I kept going from "oh you've just over-reacted and nothing is wrong" to "it's just probably ligaments" to "it's definitely a dislocated ankle" to "it's just a small fracture - they can plaster me up and I'll be home in time for dinner".

Yeah right.

After the BFF filled in all my medical forms the hospital had thrust upon me (I would have put my name down as Mrs JBJ and occupation as "stalker") and listened to me rambling on about god knows what, I got wheeled down to Radiology.  Unfortunately being tall on a standard size hospital bed isn't the best when you have a bad leg as my foot was completely sticking out over the end of the bed and as they were pushing my bed I felt like my foot was sticking out there with a big red flashing light above it going "push this into a wall", "hit the door frame with this", and my personal favourite "let's stop the elevator doors closing by using this foot".  Seriously.  That nearly happened twice.  

Finally at X-Ray and the poor Radiologist was subject to a few choice swear words as she tried to move my leg and foot into the position to get a good picture.  I asked her if she could see if there was anything wrong and she laughed.  "What can you see I said?" She said she couldn't tell me.  Really? 

So, foot first to stop the lift doors closing, I was wheeled back.  I was positive at this point my ankle was dislocated, because I figured that was what they saw on the X-ray.  Pop it back in and still be home for dinner.  Yay!  Then the Doctor came in, put one Xray on the light box and went "yup there's the break in the fibula" (oh god), put up the second X-ray "there's another break" (pardon?), put up the third X-ray and said "there's a dislocation" (are you kidding me?").  I can't think if they told me then about the torn ligaments and things I was too busy internally freaking out.  I still remember at this point thinking - "oh well, cast on and home!".

Break Number 1

Break Number 2

Yeah right.  

Stay tuned for the next exciting instalment - Dr Footz and the Twilight Zone.